


We Pick Up the Pieces and Move On

by Mystical_Artist



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e13 Dead Reckoning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystical_Artist/pseuds/Mystical_Artist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reese returns to his apartment after his bomb vest is removed. As always, Finch is there to help and John has an excuse to show off his cooking skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Pick Up the Pieces and Move On

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [We Pick Up the Pieces and Move On(Chinese Translation)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/861366) by [lizardkit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizardkit/pseuds/lizardkit)



> The first part of this takes place before Reese returns to the library at the end of Dead Reckoning. Later on, we'll see that scene, but altered a bit.

When Reese finally got back to his apartment after Finch helped him remove his bomb vest, he collapsed on his bed and was asleep before he even had a chance to remove his coat.

He finally awoke almost fourteen hours later to his stomach roaring at him in annoyance. He got up and headed to the kitchen, tossing his coat on a chair as he went. Unfortunately, the fridge was almost empty and the cabinets were pretty much bare.

He headed to the bathroom with a sigh and turned the shower on as he stripped off his clothes. Once he stood under the hot water, Reese finally allowed himself a few moments to relax before he vigorously scrubbed himself down.

When he stepped out of the shower a few moments later, he examined his newest bruises in the mirror and poked them experimentally, assessing the damage. He winced when he encountered a particularly nasty one on his right side, a memento from one of his buddy’s at Rikers, no doubt.

Reese fingered his abdomen where the timer had dangerously been counting down just hours before. He closed his eyes, remembering Finch’s trembling fingers nervously pressing the buttons to deactivate the device. He moved his fingers over to the scar he got on the rooftop with Snow, where Finch had also saved him.

His eyes flew open as he heard a muffled thud from the dining area. He quickly grabbed the sharpest thing he could find, which happened to be his razor and, brandishing it like a knife, proceeded to creep out of the bathroom. 

He had barely gotten one bare foot outside the bathroom door when a voice called to him from the kitchen. “Whenever you’re decent, Mr. Reese, I’m in here.”

John dropped the razor back on the counter and grabbed a towel, wrapping it loosely around his waist as he headed towards Finch’s voice.

Reese leaned a hip against the kitchen counter as he eyed the paper bags filled with groceries scattered around the kitchen. Finch peered over his glasses at him with a frown. “I thought I told you to make yourself decent, Mr. Reese.”

The taller man’s lips quirked upward. “I heard you, Finch. That’s why I put on a towel.” Finch’s cheeks flushed as the towel slipped down to Reese’s hips. John slowly reached down and secured the garment with a teasing wink.

“Please get dressed,” Finch murmured as he went back to restocking the kitchen. Reese retreated and returned moments later wearing grey sweats and a white shirt. He grabbed one of the bags and helped put things away.

“I figured you could use some fresh food after this past week or so. I was worried I was overzealous in my purchases, but it seems I shouldn’t have worried.” Finch gave him a concerned look as he continued. “Do you not like your kitchen, Mr. Reese?”

John shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of time to cook, Finch.” Harold frowned as Reese put the last of the food away. “I can cook for you now, if you want,” Reese said quietly. Finch limped toward his coat, which he had placed over Reese’s on the chair.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure you’d like some time to yourself.” He said, putting on his coat. Reese stepped forward and raised a hand towards Harold’s arm. He dropped it just before contact was made.

“You have some place better to be?” Finch gave him a wary look. “No, I can’t say I do…”

Reese shrugged. “So, stay.” A look of uncertainty flickered across Finch’s face before he took his coat off with a sigh. “You had better be a magnificent cook, Mr. Reese.”

John gave him a sly grin. “You already know I am.”

Finch gave a small smile in return. Yes, he knew.

 

\-----------------------------------

Reese retrieved the items he’d need from the cabinets and refrigerator before he promptly kicked Finch out of the kitchen. He expertly diced up the potatoes and green beans while the oven heated up to make the dessert.

He checked on Harold a while later and saw the billionaire typing away on Reese’s laptop. Assuming Finch was simply improving the security, he went back to preparing the meal. He really did enjoy the kitchen, but he just hadn’t had the time to truly utilize all it had to offer. When it came to having fully stocked cupboards though, that’s what took getting used to. Being homeless has taught him to never anticipate staying in one place for too long.

He was slowly accepting that the apartment was really his, but it was still a tough habit to break. Reese almost changed into something nicer, but decided it wasn’t worth it. Finch had seen him look much worse, after all. He’d seen him as a homeless man; he could stand to eat with him in sweats, too.

Reese returned to the living area later and found Harold asleep with his head on the desk. “Just like the library…” he said before he placed a hand on Finch’s shoulder. “Time to wake up, Harold. It’s almost ready.”

The billionaire jerked his head up in surprise. “Oh, I’m very sorry, Mr. Reese. I would have helped you set the table if you had woken me up.” Reese lightly stroked Finch’s neck. “You’re my guest, Finch. I wouldn’t be a very good host if I did that.” Finch stood up and gave a wince as his back cracked.

They sat down to medium-rare steak with roasted red potatoes and green beans on the side. It was simple, but it was all he could come up with on such short notice. Reese had absently grabbed a bottle of wine Finch had supplied and was mildly surprised when the billionaire had said it was a good choice for their meal.

Harold cut a small piece of his steak and gave a small sigh of contentment at its taste. “This is rather good.”

Reese finished chewing and swallowed a drink of wine before replying. “You already knew it would be.” Finch gave a small nod. “Yes, your file said you were a prestigious chef as one of your cover identities. It seems you lived up to it.”

Reese took another bite. “It’s tough to be a chef if you don’t have any skill at it.”

They both ate in silence after that, and once Finch finished, Reese took their plates to the kitchen and returned with their dessert. He cut them each a modest slice and sat down.

Finch took a tentative sniff. “Apple cobbler?” Reese grinned. “Made from scratch. The ice cream isn’t though. If I had more time…”

Harold poked a piece with his fork and examined it closely. “It’s not poisoned, Finch.” The billionaire simply blinked at him and took a bite. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Mmm, that is _very_ good. Perhaps you should cook breakfast from now on instead of buying donuts.” Reese chuckled as he tucked into his own slice. “Do I get a raise for that?”

Finch paused mid-bite. “Would you like one?” John shrugged in response. “I don’t have anything to buy, since you see to those needs yourself. Besides, I probably won’t be around that much longer- if yesterday was any indication.”

Harold set his fork down on the now empty plate. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that, John.” Reese leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “I had a bomb strapped to me, Finch. You almost died, too. You’re the one who said we’d both die at some point doing this.”

“Like I told you last night, I don’t think our deaths will happen right away. I could just be kidding myself of course, but I don’t believe my data is too flawed.” Finch said, not meeting John’s gaze. The taller man reached across the table and rested his fingers on Harold’s. “You can’t know when it’ll happen. It’s going to be a lot sooner than you think if you keep rescuing me every time I screw up.”

Finch looked up with a frown. “Mr. Reese, if you would kindly stop getting yourself into those situations, I wouldn’t have to.” The other man gave him a look of minor annoyance. “Finch, that’s what you hired me for.”

“Mr. Reese, I did not hire you to die. If I wanted that for you, I would have left you on the streets with your cheap whisky,” Harold said, clearly aggravated. Reese flinched and the billionaire sighed. “I’m sorry, I’ve said too much.” 

John picked up their dishes and headed to the kitchen. Finch followed a few moments later with the left over cobbler and ice cream. Once everything was put away, they both stood awkwardly not looking at each other.

“I should probably go. You need to rest.” Reese reached out and lightly grabbed his wrist as he started to leave the room. “I slept for over twelve hours earlier. I think I’ve rested enough for now.” His hand slid down and grasped Finch’s fingers. “You don’t have to leave.”

Harold stared at their hands before replying. “If I stay, I may end up doing something I’ll regret later.” He slowly pulled away and went to grab his coat. “I’ll see you in the morning at the usual time?” Reese gave him a nod and watched in confusion as his partner left.

He sat down on the bed with a sigh, still focused on the “something he might regret”.

The phrase bothered him for the rest of the night.

 

\---------------------------------------

When Reese got to the library that morning, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Something had obviously changed between him and Harold and he couldn’t believe he had let the billionaire slip away like that the night before.

After he was tackled by a very excited Bear, he tried to thank Finch for everything. Unfortunately, the barriers had been put back up and Reese knew he’d have to take a different approach to figure this one out.

Reese furrowed his brow as he sat cleaning his arsenal at one of the tables. He knew Finch would never bring it up, so it was time to take some initiative.

“Hey, Finch?”

The billionaire turned his chair to face him. “Why would you have regretted it?” He set his cleaning tools down and stood up. “Did you think I’d be angry?”

Finch opened his mouth slightly in surprise. “I…I’m not sure what you are talking about, Mr. Reese.” John stalked over to him. “Don’t play games with me, Finch. You know what I mean.”

Finch stood up and leaned his backside against the desk. “I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want to.” John stepped closer. “And if I want it, too?”

Harold made a “who knows” gesture with his hands. Reese leaned forward and kissed him.

“Any regrets so far, Mr. Finch?” he asked in a teasing tone. “No, Mr. Reese. Not yet. Do continue.”

So he did.

 


End file.
